House waited, letting the television distract him from thinking too much about Foreman and his motivations, about his own damn insecurities. He heard when Foreman left the bathroom, half-waiting for him to restart the conversation and tell him, for once, that he was right, that his reputation was more important than anything else. So, goodbye, House, get the hell out. He'll see him at work, until he got a better job and a boyfriend who won't damage his precious rep. House would admit that he didn't want this to become common knowledge, but the reasons were different. Privacy protection. He didn't need lectures and advice. Everyone judged him already, and he didn't care about what people would think about his life, and his preferences, and his choices, as long as they wouldn't interfere. And House knew they would. He wouldn't get fired over something like this--his job was safe; Cuddy wouldn't fire him if he burned the damn building down--but he didn't need noses sticking into his life.

Nothing came from Foreman, however, and he arrived in the living room dressed with the usual, asking casually if he was ready to go. Foreman was dropping the conversation, and it was probably better. Almost a relief, since it meant that Foreman was still running with this, despite the potential for irreversible career damage. He was still worth something. "Been ready," he said, swinging his legs down from the couch and standing up. He headed toward the door. "It's you who've been primping yourself for the last fifteen minutes."